


By Any Other Name

by Aphidity



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Misunderstanding, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 09:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aphidity/pseuds/Aphidity
Summary: Thunderclash thinks he's found a lovely rose. He doesn't realise that how thorny it can be.Hot Rod would like to make it clear that he is a Wrecker, not a wilting wallflower, thank you very much.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Thunderclash meets Hot Rod who is still part of the Wreckers. Shenanigans ensue.

The bar was dim, dingy, and crowded. The music was so loud it was felt more than heard and whoever decorated this place had confused strobe lights for tastefulness. Not the usual sort of place that Thunderclash favoured, but he didn’t have much other choice in this case. The remote Autobot outpost of Uraya had sand and dust in abundance, but not much else to offer. This unnamed bar was the designated meeting point for most of Urayan society, and the perfect place for coded instructions from High Command to be discreetly dropped off to the captain of the _Vis Vitalis_.

Thunderclash would leap into a burning sun for the sake of the Autobot cause, but that still didn’t mean that he approved of this meeting place in principle.

He wasn’t a snooty Towers noble, but he didn’t really mind the grimy interior or sludgy fuel. The thing about this place that rubbed him to wrong way was its patrons. Too many mechs with too many guns crowded in one place. Even if there weren’t any Cons in sight, a large proportion were Neutrals, who did not necessarily have any more love for the Bots than the Cons did. What fragments of conversation his audials could catch seemed to rumble with barely concealed hostility.

He especially did not like the look that tank three tables away had been staring out of the corner of his visor. Or those guns that triple-changer was polishing with single-minded intensity (in a fragging bar, for Pit’s sake! Didn’t they teach manners anymore?). Or that increasingly loud conversation that racer and helicopter were having.

Primus, this place was a brawl waiting to happen.

While Thunderclash had no worries about defending himself if it came to blows, he did not share the same joy in violence that some other veterans did. Unfortunately, there were those who had fallen from the ideals of the Prime and the Autobot faction. War made monsters of them all.

He nudged Paddox in the side. “We should just get what we need and leave as soon as we can. I am not liking this place.”

Paddox flickered his optic lights in agreement. “This bar serves a rough crowd, and we don’t need to get involved in any confrontations. Hopefully we’ll be able to locate the contact and make a quick exit.” He punched the designated passcode into his communicator while Thunderclash tried to look as un-suspicious as possible.

A commotion behind them drew their attention to the bar’s entrance. A large green triplechanger muscled his way through the crowd, much to the strident protest of a slight red mech slung over his shoulder.

“Put me down, I said PUT ME DOWN! Springer! Put! Me! Down! You’re just doing this to humiliate me- STOP THAT. Put me down, I can walk! Frag you!” The smaller mech was desperately twisting every which way to try and squirm out of the triplechanger’s grip. His golden spoiler fluttered ineffectually against the triplechanger’s shoulder barrels. _Bapbapbapbapbap._

The triplechanger didn’t appear to register the flapping spoiler through his thick armour. Or the smaller mech’s distress through his equally thick processor, by the way he just laughed and hitched the wriggling mech higher. A squeal of protest came from the red mech’s engine, but his lithe racer frame was no match for the huge arm locked around his slender waist.

Thunderclash realised that the twinge running up his arms were from wires pinched by his clenched fists. When did he shift into an aggressive stance?

“You, uh, alright there, Captain?” And there was Paddox staring at him, digit frozen mid-typing, with confusion and consternation written all over his field. “You seem a little tense.”

Thunderclash forced his plating flat from its previous agitated ruffle and pushed concern into his own field. “I am fine.” A louder rev of the racer’s engine came from behind. Turning back, the triplechanger was laughing as he fended off a hail of kicks aimed at his helm. Thunderclash narrowed his optics. “However, perhaps it would be best if I intervened.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hot Rod is _very_ confused.

Hot Rod was going to sit and sulk for the rest of eternity if his comrades didn’t shut the frag up.

“And- And- And, oh Primus, you should have _seen_ how angry the other bot was!” Springer’s vents wheezed as they tried to suck more air in. “I thought his paintjob was going to self-combust right in my face!”

Blaster had to set his cube down before he spilt it all over himself in his hysterics. Whirl laughed his voxcoder so glitchy that he stopped cackling and started crackling instead. Even Kup was snickering behind his cube.

“Good on ya, Hot Rod! You’ve got someone out there defending your honour.” Springer thumped the sulking mech on his spoiler hub with a slag-sucking grin, then collapsed into another fit of laughter when Hot Rod’s field went absolutely _incandescent_ with embarrassed fury.

“You,” hissed Hot Rod through clenched dentae, “are literally the _worst_ pile of rusted spare parts ejected out of Unicron’s exhaust.”

Springer was still incapacitated by giggles, which was the signal for Blurr to step up to the task of needling his fellow Wrecker. “Why, Roddy, it’s not everyday that you get to have a hero in eyeburning armour dashing to your rescue, you know. Makes a nice change from usually doing the rescuing, don’t you think?”

“You can go suck slag right along with Springer too.”

“You got his comm codes, Rod?”

“Driiiift! I thought you were my friend!”

And oh, had that been absolutely humiliating. It all started with Hot Rod dishing Springer some snarky backchat, which was normal. Then Springer decided that he wasn’t going to take that sort of sass and pulled Hot Rod into a headlock, which was also normal. That scuffle escalated to Springer swinging his subordinate up onto his shoulder like a barrel, which was still normal (for a Wrecker, anyway). Hot Rod yelled and hollered just to keep up appearances, because like slag he was going to let Springer get away with that.

Then things stopped being normal and started getting _weird_.

Hot Rod hadn’t minded that he was being hoisted around in public like a sack of bolts. Everyone understood that it was just some friendly roughhousing going on, nothing serious. If Springer really were unhappy about things, Hot Rod would have been confined in the brig, not brought out to the bar. If Hot Rod had really objected to being swung around, Springer would have had a hole blasted through his helm. Straightforward as that. This was just a couple of close squadmates fooling around. Slag, this far into the war, some mechs would probably even _envy_ them for still having surviving squadmates at all.

But then this mech appeared out of nowhere (actually from the bartender’s counter, according to Springer, but Hot Rod had been too busy flailing to notice) and started making a huge fuss for no reason. From the awkward angle that he was being held at, Hot Rod could only see up to the mech’s chestplate, and Primus, what a purge-inducing paintjob that chestplate had. Seriously? Red, teal, yellow and white? Hot Rod had to give it to him though, this mystery mech had bearings of steel if he dared to talk down to Springer. Most sane mechs would mind their manners around a triplechanger to begin with, and with the leader of the Wreckers? They’d tread very, very carefully.

Not this mech though. He didn’t raise his voice at Springer, not quite, but there was a forcefulness to his voice that made it clear he wasn’t interested in a friendly conversation.

“-should set him down, right this instant.” A few words were swept away by the ambient noise, then his audials managed to catch the thread of conversation again. “-rude, degrading treatment should not continue.”

Hot Rod realised that he had been so distracted by what was going on that he had forgotten to keep struggling, hanging limply from the crook of Springer’s arm instead. Anxiously, he twisted himself up to see how Springer took this.

Springer looked about as taken aback as Hot Rod felt. This close, he could feel licks of Springer’s confusion in his EMF, and knew that his own field mirrored the same emotion. Hot Rod quickly damped his field down before the two of them got caught up in a feedback loop of _what-the-frag-is-going-on_.

His field commander’s tone and expression were carefully neutral. “You have an issue with this, mech?”

Hot Rod didn’t like how this was going. He reached over and gently tapped on Springer’s servo. The larger mech got the hint and released his grip on Hot Rod’s waist, allowing Hot Rod to shimmy back down to his pedes and face the mystery mech. If this stranger was out to pick a fight, he was going to be ready.

A better look at the stranger showed that yes, his paintjob was hideous, but more worryingly, he was just as heavily armed and armoured as Springer was. They were almost of a height, in fact. If it came to blows, they’d probably still win, but not without some Ratchet-worthy injuries. Besides, they’d get kicked out of the bar, and c’mon! This bar was the only decent entertainment Hot Rod got in the rustbucket that was Uraya, he didn’t want to die of boredom back at the base!

Their antagonist’s faceplates had a frown that rivalled Ultra Magnus’. Hot Rod considered taking an image capture to send over to Magnus, maybe with a witty caption, just to be annoying. Like “hey this would be you if somebody dumped the whole inventory’s worth of paint on you”.

“As a matter of fact, yes. He was obviously upset with your actions, and yet you continued against his will. This is highly disrespectful, and I do not believe you should continue in this manner.”

Ohhh, this mech was really looking for an aft-whooping, talking like that to Springer. Hot Rod leapt in before Springer decided to proceed rearranging that mech’s face.

“Actually, I’m fine. I was fine, until you decided to interrupt. Care to explain?” Internally, he winced at how piping his voice was compared to the threatening rumbles previously exchanged. He drew himself up and fanned out his spoiler in an attempt at intimidation.

Primus sure enjoyed using Hot Rod as a divine joke, because instead of backing off, the mech snapped his red optics (huh, unusual) onto Hot Rod and his frown melted into pure concern as he reached out towards Hot Rod. “Are you really alright? You have not been injured, have you? He,” and here a glare was shot at Springer, “was not exactly gentle in his treatment of you.”

Okay, Hot Rod didn’t know what was happening anymore. “What the frag are you talking about? He’s my commander!”

And that frown was back again, but Hot Rod was too upset to consider taking an image capture this time. That weird mech sounded really sad as he replied, “It doesn’t mean you have to put up with this sort of behaviour though. That’s not part of the code, or what Autobots stand for.”

Before Weirdo could finish his wonky thought process or Hot Rod could deck him, Springer interrupted. “Okay hold up. Hold up.” A faint shadow of smugness was spreading across his face like an oil slick. “I get it now.”

Oh good, because Hot Rod didn’t. “Get what?”

His commander didn’t bother enlightening him, instead electing to smirk at Weirdo. “Might not be normal for _you_ scrubs, but that’s how we Wreckers roll. Got an issue with that? Maybe bring that up with Optimus next time. But for now, excuse me while I very chivalrously _escort_ my fellow Wrecker up to the table of his choice.” Springer twirled back to face Hot Rod and did some complicated bowing thing that ended up with his upturned palm in Hot Rod’s face. “May I?”

“Wha-?” was Hot Rod’s intelligent reply. Weirdo was spluttering in indignation beside him, but Hot Rod had zero processing power left. What was going on?

“Oh for frag’s sake.” Springer threw up his servoes in frustration, then reached down and threw Hot Rod right over his shoulder again. “Come on, Roddy, we ain’t got the whole fragging cycle. Now is time for engex, and I’m not going to waste it standing around.”

Hot Rod yelled again, just on principle.


End file.
